


syndesmosis

by shcherbatskayas



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: F/F, Getting Together, Hot Springs & Onsen, Injury, Recovery, alcohol (mentioned)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-10
Updated: 2019-06-10
Packaged: 2020-04-23 21:54:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19159732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shcherbatskayas/pseuds/shcherbatskayas
Summary: syndesmosis (n): an immovable joint in which bones are joined by connective tissue (e.g. between the fibula and tibia at the ankle)





	syndesmosis

**Author's Note:**

> me and my galaxy brain wrote this for tumblr user princessrococo and FORGOT TO POST IT HERE so like. here it is! some saramari. comments and kudos are super appreciated, and tysm for reading!

The off-season is the most frustrating season of the year. Sara wakes up in the morning and there’s this urge deep in her bones to _compete_ , to get out on the ice and prove something to the world, but there’s no world around to prove it to. There’s just her training mates here in her temporary camp in Tokyo, which will have to do. It’s had to do for two weeks now, but this part of things is important. She needs this crunch time, the time away from competition so that she can be at her peak when she gets back. Still, that doesn’t mean Sara has to _like_ it.  

The other girls she splits the apartment with are just getting up when Sara is heading out. The camp, like the apartment, is temporary, but Sara’s still fond of it. It’s tiny and cute, with pastel walls and stainless steel appliances that glimmer in the sunlight. A good place to rest after working on the ice all day.

“Good morning, Sara-san!” Kanako chirps in Japanese when she walks in.

“Good morning, Kanako-sensei!” Sara’s finally gotten good enough at the language that she can figure out the basic greetings, and she can’t help but be proud of herself as she starts changing into her skates and Kanako switches to English to tell her the plans for the day. 

None of it is much different than the plans for the day before: some time on the ice to work on jumps, then dance classes, then to the gym, and then they’re done by six in the evening. Still, Sara listens and nods like she should and then glides onto the ice.

Half of the students are already here. There’s tiny Kenjirou Minami, trying and failing and trying again to land a quad toe. He bounces back up like rubber with a quick and fervent “I’m okay!”, and Sara doesn’t bother to suppress her giggles. Yuuri is working on spins, Guang Hong Ji is trying to add a triple toe to his quad toe loop, and Mila is just gliding on the ice, elegant and easy.

Sara knows what she has to do. It was an edge call on a triple flip that stopped her from getting gold at Europeans, and a fall on that same jump that stopped her from getting on the Worlds podium. It isn’t the first season it’s caused her problems, but her blood rolls to a fast and furious boil when she thinks of it, one that she can barely contain.

It will not happen again. 

She starts out with jumps she’s good at, like always. A triple toe, a triple lutz, a triple loop. They come to her as easy as breathing does, and that’s the trick. She can’t worry about the flip when she goes into it. If she panics, it’s game over.

Sara’s feeling relatively confident when she jumps off of the inside edge of her skate. Her landing isn’t her best, but she landed it. That’s not good enough for what she wants, but it’s not a horrible start. That could’ve gotten her a bronze at Worlds.

Mila, who _won_ Worlds, passes by her and waves. Sara waves back. She’s not upset with Mila by any measure, but competition is competition. She has to be better than her once the season starts, and Sara’s never seen Mila so much as under rotate a flip since she became a senior. Four full seasons of perfect triple flips, and Sara can count on one hand how many competitions she’s had with perfect flips since she was thirteen. She tries not to dwell on it.

The lopsided injustice of it all is what Sara’s thinking when she throws herself backwards into the air. Maybe that’s what causes it, or maybe it’s that she went into the jump slightly sideways, or maybe it’s the way her feet get tangled around each other on the third rotation. No matter what it is, it doesn’t matter. What matters is the result, and the result is an unnatural twist of her right ankle as she crashes down onto the ice.

Sara picks herself up with her left foot first, and almost falls over again when she puts weight on her right. Pain radiates out from her ankle, hot and sharp, and it leaves her clinging to the boards.

“Shit.” She hisses as she skates off the ice. All of that one-foot skating she did in past programs pays off now, because Sara can’t even reconcile the idea of putting her right skate down to get herself across the little bit of ice between her and being off.

Sara doesn’t notice Yuuri following her until she’s off the ice. “What happened?” He asks, brows furrowed.

“I fell weird on a flip. I’m sure it’s nothing!” Sara waves a hand at him as she starts undoing the laces on her skate, but Yuuri doesn’t move. Not until she takes the skate off, and then he moves to get off the ice, too.

“That doesn’t look normal…” He winces when she gives her ankle an experimental twist as if her testing the limits of her injury caused him pain. “Do you think you might have—”

“Ah! Don’t even say it. It’s bad luck to say it.” Sara cuts him off as she examines the red, swollen thing that connects her foot to her leg, that little bit of bone that so much of her life relies on. “But maybe. I don’t know.”

Kanako, alerted by the odd activity off the ice, comes skating over. “What’s going on?”

“I fell.” Sara explains, not adding more detail than that.

Kanako peaks over the boards, and her expression sours. “Can you put weight on it?”

She knows the answer in her heart, but Sara puts her foot down anyways and then grabs onto Yuuri’s arm to keep from toppling over. “Not really.”

“You need to see a doctor about that.” Kanako leaves no room for argument, and Sara wants to fight back. Insist that she’s fine, that she can still skate, that she can go out there and do the jump again and land it right and do everything as she should. That this won’t even be notable tomorrow, let alone what she thinks it is. But Sara isn’t stupid. She wouldn’t have made it this far in skating if she was stupid. Sara knows what’s wrong, and what she needs to do.

“Do you know the office closest to here?” She asks, blinking furiously. She doesn’t know if the tears are from the pain or the horror of it, but they’re close to spilling out and she needs to keep them back.

Kanako says something to Yuuri in Japanese that she doesn’t understand. Sara picks out the word for “drive,” and then Yuuri’s nodding and picking up her things and before she knows it, she’s in the passenger seat of Yuuri’s little Subaru and heading away from the rink.

Sara rests her head on the window, takes a deep breath in through her nose, and tells herself that everything is fine.

***

The doctor is gentle about delivering her the news, but it doesn’t change the reality of it: sprained ankle, damn near broken. Ligaments stretched and snapped like overworked hairbands, swelling beneath her skin to make up for the weight she put on them. Crutches for three weeks, and no skating for three weeks after that. Sara counts weeks on her hands while the doctor explains the importance of listening to him and figures out that she won’t be on ice until the beginning of July. If her first competition is in the beginning of September, that gives her two months to get two programs together. Two months. 

“You should find a nice place to recover.” The doctor says once Sara tunes back in. “Low stress.”

Sara nods, and then he continues on about exercises she should try, which he writes on a sheet of paper and tells her not to even attempt for two weeks. She makes Yuuri hold the paper as she hobbles back to the car on her new crutches. It’s not until she’s in the car that she finally cries.

“Hey, it’ll be alright!” Yuuri encourages frantically, patting her shoulder. “Your ankle will heal!”

Sara sobs and tries to find the best way to explain that she knows that she’ll be alright, but that the set back might be enough to ruin her season, and she doesn’t know how many seasons she has left to be ruined. Sara allows herself to consider the possibility of total destruction for a moment, lets herself think of it as the end of her career, and then shoves that thought to the back of her mind to starve to death.

“I know.” She chokes out. “I just hate it.”

Yuuri pats her shoulder and lets her get it all out. Once Sara’s crying has turned into an occasional sniffle, he speaks. “What do you think about going to Yu-topia to recover? It’s really nice, and Mom and Dad have had tons of athletes recover there before. There are rooms on the first floor and the hot springs are great this time of year. It’s not expensive, either! It doesn’t cost any more than the apartment, anyways.”

“...It sounds nice.” Sara decides. “It’s not like I can stay at the apartment if I’m not going to be at the camp, either.”

“I’m sure Kanako-sensei wouldn’t kick you out! I just don’t know if it would be the best place to recover.” Yuuri thinks about that statement for a moment, and then rushes to add to it. “Not because it’s ill-equipped or anything! It’s just so high up and would have so many skaters around and—”

“I know what you mean.” Sara reassures him.

Yuuri sighs in relief, and then he starts the car. “I’ll drive there, then.”

“Thanks. You’re a good friend, Yuuri.”

“It’s not a problem.” Yuuri smiles at her, and then they drive off to a place that Sara has only heard about in memories that sound half life dreams, but she trusts them. She has to trust them.

***

The Katsukis, Sara discovers, are about as nice and anxious as the son they raised. Sara doesn’t catch their names, but Yuuri’s father swiftly grabs her bags and his mother leads her to the closest room while fussing about her ankle.

“I’ve always said flips are the most dangerous jumps!” She says when Sara tells the story, Yuuri hopping in when her Japanese fails her. “Very dangerous! Easy to get your feet tangled up. Yuuri fell on them so much when he was little. He used to come home crying because of flips.”

“Mom…” He complains, hiding his face behind his hands. From around the corner, Sara hears a chuckle, and then a woman appears. She bears a strong resemblance to Yuuri and his mother, and Sara can’t place her until she speaks.

“He’d come home crying about anything.” She says. The smirk she wears is familiar, the same one that Sara puts on when she’s about to tease Michele about something, but she wears it with an ease that makes Sara relax and tense up at the same time.

“Mari, not you, too!” Yuuri’s embarrassment hits a peak, and Sara laughs for the first time since she woke up. When she notices Mari looking at her, she decides to say something.

“Sara Crispino, nice to meet you.” She says, moving to shake her hand before she remembers the crutches under her arms and settles for a quick duck of the head instead.

“I’m Mari. Nice to meet you, too.”

Mari is the one to open the door to the room, and she frowns at it. “It needs a good dusting.” She declares.

“Then go get the duster while we get her settled.” Her mother says, and then Mari’s gone.

(Sara watches her walk away. There’s nothing balletic or formal or technically graceful about the way she walks, but it’s carefree. Natural. Unstressed. Just looking at it, Sara feels some of the tension leave her shoulders, but she can’t quite pin down _why_. Still, she’s relieved that it gives her something to think about other than her ankle, if only for a minute.)

***

Sara’s in the process of re-wrapping her ankle when Mari reappears. She’s already showered, eaten, called her brother and calmed him down from his near panic attack at the state of her ankle, and let the skating world know that she’s formally off the ice until July. There’d be no point in hiding it, really, and the sympathy messages come pouring in. Sara doesn’t know if she can read any of them without puking.

“I’m just here to dust.” Mari says, holding the duster out in front of her.

“Thank you.” Sara looks up from her wrapping. It’s not until she looks now that she realizes that the bottom half of Mari’s hair is blonde, almost golden in the low light of the evening. She makes a concentrated effort to look like she’s not staring, but Sara wants to know the exact point where it goes from brown to blonde, search through her hair and find the all the shades that it’s hiding. Along with being something to do, there’s a chill about Mari that’s almost alarming. She’s not sloppy, but she has none of the anxiety that seems to permeate her family. It’s weird. She likes it.

“No problem.”

Even the way Mari dusts is relaxed. She must have been doing this for a long time, but Sara wants the specifics. “How long have you been working here?”

“Since I was a kid.” Mari tells her. “How long have you been skating?”

“Ever since I could remember. It’s sort of a family business. My brother skates, too, and my parents were ice dancers.”

“Then this ankle thing must really suck.” Mari says, and Sara blinks. She can’t remember the last time she’s heard it said so plainly, that things like this just sucked, but Mari didn’t even hesitate.

“Yeah.” Sara agrees. “It sucks. I know that it’s not the end of the world, and that I’ll recover, and that worse injuries have happened to people doing easier things than what I was doing and that I should feel lucky to only have a sprain, but…”

“But it sucks.”

“Exactly!” Sara’s wrap comes undone and she sighs at it viciously before starting all over. “I’m grateful that it wasn’t worse, but I’d rather it didn’t happen at all.”

“As would anyone.” Mari finishes up dusting a dresser and moves onto the nightstand. Wordlessly, Sara scoots to move her phone, her laptop, and charger off of it. “Did they tell you how long until you’d be off crutches?”

“Three weeks, and then three more weeks until I can skate. And even after that, I can’t go straight back into jumps. That’ll be at least another week.” Just thinking about it makes Sara want to bury her head into the pillows. “I can’t do a single thing until then.”

“You can probably do something. You just have to find out whatever something is.” She finishes up with the nightstand and with that, there’s nothing left to do. “See you at breakfast.”

“See you!”

Mari walks away again, the duster in her hand swinging back and forth, back and forth. Even. Measured. Almost like there’s music playing in her head. Sara watches her go, and then gets an idea of what she can do. She lunges for her laptop and opens up Youtube, Spotify, and Soundcloud, each in their own tabs. Then she grabs her phone and puts up another post, ignoring the notifications that wish her well and weep for her ankle. Sara doesn’t want tears right now.

_Have any music suggestions?_ She asks the void of the internet, and she searches through the bag that Yuuri brought from her apartment for her headphones so that she can listen to the answers.

***

Sara spends the first full day at Yu-topia asleep. There’s something exhausting about injuries, even if they’re as simple as sprain. It’s something that she can’t explain and doesn’t bother to find the words for. She remembers being younger, spraining her wrist at twelve and sleeping so long that Michele eventually woke her up because he thought she had fallen into a coma and was going to die. Her wrist had been perfectly fine by the end of the month.

When she finally wakes up, somewhere around dinner, she’s apocalyptically hungry. If she strains, Sara can hear the sounds of people eating in the large dining area she passed on her way in, and that sounds like as good a place to eat as any. So she gets dressed and makes her way out, ready to face some version of the real-life public for the first time since she got injured.

She finds a table towards the bar and sits down, carefully propping her crutches against the table. Mari is quick to come over with a menu and places it down, but then she makes a face at Sara. “Do you read Japanese?”

“Not a word.” Sara shrugs and looks at the table for half a moment before looking up at Mari. The dark circles under her eyes peek out through a thin layer of foundation, and Sara wishes she could act as a waitress for half a second and give her seat to Mari, even if she wouldn’t know how to do it. “I’ll just have whatever’s easiest for you to cook. Everything here seems really good.”

Mari blinks at her and her eyebrows raise in a way that’s almost startled, but not quite. “You sure?”

“I’m sure.” She smiles up at Mari, trusting her with a whole-heartedness that she maybe shouldn’t give out so freely, not when she still knows Mari as being primarily Yuuri’s older sister who once shoved him into a pile of fake snakes, but she can’t help it. Something about Mari makes it impossible for her to doubt.

***

Day two, day three, day four. Sara listens to music and learns the words for pork, squid, and all the various alcohols Yu-topia keeps in stock. Even though she loves the hot springs and how they seem to melt the tension right out of her ankle, she learns that her favorite place is near the bar when Mari’s working. Sara likes it best when someone orders a mixed drink, one of the colorful ones. She doesn’t understand how Mari takes all of the juices and alcohols and makes something that looks like it could be on the cover of a magazine, but she does it with ease. Maybe it’s in the pouring, how much of each drink goes into the final one. Or maybe it’s the ingredients. Maybe it’s just Mari.

Day five is when Mari notices her watching. Or at least, day five is when Mari says something about it. It’s a Sunday, slow, just Sara and one other customer who just ordered something orange that she can’t identify at the bar. Mari moves over, slides all of the bottles in front of Sara and peeking out between what she recognizes as orange juice and rum, asks “Do you want to learn how?”

Sara nods eagerly and then Mari pulls out a glass, empty except for some ice. “Pineapple juice first. I’d say a third of the way up.”

She squints at the bottles in front of her, looking hard and then grabbing what she’s pretty sure is pineapple. Sara forces herself to memorize the foreign characters on the front of it, the abstract shapes and twisting lines, and then fills up the glass slightly over a third of the way.

“Not bad. Orange is next. Up to about here.” Mari points, and she moves her hand away just as Sara reaches for the orange juice. Their hands brush, and Sara makes a point of not rushing to move away. She does it slowly, fills up the glass as Mari instructed.

Coconut water, coconut rum, key lime juice, dark rum. With every point, their hands get closer and closer until there’s just a tiny bit of grenadine syrup left, small enough that Mari finds it necessary to put a hand over Sara’s wrist and tilt it just so, an angle so small that it can barely be seen.

“You’re used to moving for the back row. Sometimes drinks require tiny movements. Very tiny.” She says. “I think that’s why Yuuri spills every drink he’s ever poured.”

“No, that’s just Yuuri.” Sara jokes, eliciting a pleased snicker from Mari. It’s a low, lovely sound. Maybe she could fit that into program music.

They both stare at the drink for a moment, and then Sara pushes it towards her. “How’d I do?” She asks.

Mari takes a sip and then nods. “Good. A bit more of a kick than I’d put in it, but I think it’s good. It suits you.”

It’s a compliment. Sara is pretty sure it’s a compliment. She _hopes_ it’s a compliment, but not in the general way she hopes for compliments from everyone. This one is a little more personal.

Mari drinks all of it before closing up, a small flush on her cheeks. Sara decides to make it for her again tomorrow.

***

A week and a half in, and Sara has learned her way around four mixed drinks. The recipes find their way into her phone, but she hasn’t had a drink any of them. It’s much more satisfying to make them for Mari, who seems to grow increasingly startled by Sara’s presents. It’s backwards, but kind of cute.  

The next drink she learns is simple. Champagne and mango juice with ice cubes and a little bit of actual mango on the top. Mari looks at it like Sara’s given her Sarkovski crystals (not at all Mari’s style, and it’s weird to be able to look at things now and tell if they’re Mari’s style) and then takes a sip.

“I’m not used to getting gifts.” She says slowly, a little shyly.

Sara smiles at her and moves the bottles away, gets a clear look at Mari’s face. “I’ll single handedly get you used to them.”

“You think so?”

“I know so.” The smile turns into more of a grin, and Mari tilts her head to the side.

“Ambitious of you.” She comments, and then another customer pulls her away, leaving Sara to linger on those words all on her own.

***

Sara’s ankle stops throbbing around the second week. Still, she keeps on the crutches and ventures as far as she can into Hastetsu, which isn’t much further than the grocery store at the moment. She ventures and always has somewhere safe and warm to come back to and someone to talk to when she gets there. Half of the fun of walking the streets is coming back to Mari asking what she did, if she saw anyone interesting, if she got to practice any of her Japanese. There’s a disinterested veneer to her, in the casual way she works in a perfect rhythm while Sara answers, but Mari always looks back at her and Sara knows that she’s being listened to, and pretty intently at that. She’s pretty sure she can safely call Mari her friend at this point, and a friend that she trusts.

“Do you have a lot of opinions about music?” Sara asks as Mari prepares for the dinner crowd. They still have thirty minutes, maybe, before the first person will come in. Everything here seems to work on a neat schedule in that way. She could set her watch to it.

“I’d say so, yeah. Why?”  


“I’m stuck between two pieces of music for my short program. Do you want to hear them?”

“Mhmm.”

Sara pulls out her phone and plays them. Mari looks more serious than she’s ever seen her as she wipes the counter and listens. Her brows are furrowed and there’s this slight frown on her face and the light makes her look like something in the Romantic paintings her little hometown was famous for. It’d be called something like _A young woman at work_ and Sara would stare up at it with wide, glistening eyes and—

“The second one. First one has too much going on.” Mari decides.

“That’s what I was thinking! But I was worried that the second one might be too plain.”

“With you skating to it?” The seriousness from earlier fades and Mari quirks an eyebrow at her. “Not a chance.”

***

The first day without crutches is strange. Sara walks slowly, uncertain. There’s a chance of her ankle going sideways, sending herself right back to square one, but she goes through the day and stays steady throughout. She does the exercises that the doctor told her to religiously, twisting her foot this way and that to get the strength back into it.

The second day, Sara runs. Just a few laps around the main streets of Hasetsu, always waving when she passes Yu-topia. She spots Mari in the window twice, headphones in her ears as she cleans up; Mari waves back both times.

After that, she soaks in the hot springs. It’s empty this time of day, so she closes her eyes and lets the steam force her to relax. It’s silent and Sara could almost fall asleep like this, but then there are footsteps nearby. Someone else. Sara knows by the rhythm of them that it’s Mari.

“Have a good run?” She asks as she slides into the water next to Sara.

“Mhmm. Exhausting, but you know.” Sara keeps her eyes closed, too tired to bother. It’s enough to just know that Mari is there, hear her voice and feel the shift in the water around her. “I sent my music off to the choreographer back home. He said he’d get the program ready and send me it so that I could at least practice the step sequence off ice.”

“That’s good. Just take care of yourself, alright?”

That tempts Sara into opening an eye. Mari looks genuinely concerned for her. The expression doesn’t last long, but it’s there.

“I will.” She promises, silently deciding that maybe a run every other day is wise instead of going for once a day right off the bat. There’s no real rush to recover while she’s here at at Yu-topia; she can save speed for the ice for now.

***

Yu-topia gets a sudden rush of traffic. Two birthday parties and tourists on the same day, and the place is full. Sara sits at the bar and can see Hiroko stressing in the kitchen. She’s learned that all Katsukis blush when they get nervous, and her face is bright red. Mari hops between the bar and the kitchen for thirty minutes until another surge of people come in and she looks at Sara with something that looks almost stressed. Not quite, but almost.

“You think that you can man the bar for like, five minutes? You know the Japanese words for most of the drinks.” Mari steals a glance towards the exit, the way she usually does when she’s craving a cigarette, and Sara pops right up.

“Sure! I got it. Don’t worry.”

Mari lets her behind the bar and then vanishes into the kitchen. Sara rolls up her sleeves to the elbow and looks through the set up. It’s a weird point of view, but it’s not a bad one. One that she could get used to.

“Hello.” Her first customer, a lady in her forties ordering for her group of friends, comes up to the bar. Sara doesn’t understand all of the phrases she says say to her, but she picks out the names of the drinks and sets to work. When she smiles at her order, Sara knows that she’s done well, and it’s not quite as satisfying as a clean program on competition day, but it still leaves her feeling warm and happy.

***

The next three weeks fly by. Sara works on what she can on the grass outside of Yu-topia while she’s stranded from the ice and sometimes Mari will watch her work through the steps when she’s on a break, careful to blow the smoke away from her.

“It looks good.” Mari tells her, three days away from when Sara has scheduled her flight home. “Do you know what you’re doing for the free skate yet?”  


“I don’t have a clue.” She admits. “I’ve looked through tons of music, but I just haven’t found anything right yet.”

Mari reaches into her pocket and takes out her phone. “I have something for you to consider.” She says, and then hits play.

Sara recognizes the music instantly: _Carmen_. After skating for so long, it’s impossible not to know it, not to want to be good enough to put your own twist on it. This one is clearly classical, but there’s odd techno beats, turning an opera older than her grandmother’s grandmother into something modern. Something Sara could hear on the radio. Something wild and fun and free.

“I like it.” She decides. “Where’d you find it?”

“...I made it. I’ve always liked listening to music, so I saved up and bought some equipment to try and make it a few years ago. I mess around with it when I can, and I thought that I’d try to whip something up for you a week or two ago. No pressure if you don’t actually like it, though.” Mari extinguishes her cigarette and stares at the butt of it and Sara rushes forward, unable to stop herself from wrapping her up in a hug.

“That’s so kind of you!” She squeezes Mari tight and lifts her off the ground in her giddy, unstoppable excitement, and then spins while Mari lets out a startled squeak. When she stops hugging her, Sara doesn’t quite let go so much as she changes hold, her hands around Mari’s wrist. “I never knew you were so talented! You have to send it to me, I’m giving it to my team as soon as possible.”  


“It’s not that big of a deal.” Mari says. “I just wanted to do something nice for you.”

“You didn’t just do something nice, you did something amazing.” Sara doesn’t know if it’s the right thing to do, but her heart screams out for her to kiss Mari somehow, so she plants something light and sweet on her cheek, technically impersonal but with her whole soul behind it.

She pulls back to gauge Mari’s expression. Happy? Sad? Confused? Offended? None of the above. There’s an impercitable, unknowable smile on her face, the endless mystery of Mari Katsuki reemerging. Sara feels more lost than ever, and completely overjoyed to be so lost. “All of that training and you still can’t hit my lips?” She teases, and then leans in.

Sara meets her in the middle.

***

It’s Mari who drives her to the airport. Mari who double checks to make sure she’s not out of wraps for her ankle and reminds her to take breaks. Mari who waves goodbye as Sara takes her first steps towards getting back home. And once she is back home, greeted by Michele and her parents and the family cats, Mari is the first person she texts.

[Sara] You know, competition assignments are late, but they should be out soon. Maybe I’ll get assigned to a Grand Prix in Japan. The one this year isn’t far from Hasetsu.

[Mari] Maybe I’ll go.

Added to the message is an image, Mari’s enigmatic smile, and Sara flops onto her bed and buries her smile in the pillows before texting her coach about the possibility of him politicking to get her to NHK this season.

[Lorenzo] If that’s what you want.

[Sara] I do.

[Sara] I definitely do.


End file.
